Nomenclature
by Adrian Tullberg
Summary: Ruminations after 'Night of the Doctor'


Nomenclature

by Adrian Tullberg

* * *

Rassilon, Lord President of Gallifrey, surveyed the universe in front of him, with the serene demeanour of one who knew he could elevate or destroy any world or star or galaxy in his field of vision.

As it should be.

He turned around, striding towards his offices, other Time Lords, having shed their factional colours and unified in one; his personal splash of claret, bowing in his wake.

As it should be.

No other being in existence had done what he'd done; taken a society, flush with success after it's pioneering of Unlimited Time Travel, and shook it into submission, and honed it into the ultimate pinnacle of civilisation.

This jewel.

This perfection.

This Gallifrey.

A society perfectly balanced, never fluxing, withering or changing, Now and Forever. And after he had placed his greatest masterpiece under glass, he slumbered.

He left a few breadcrumbs to lure those of ability, of ambition, who might actually challenge him, into his personal trap, hording them for future use.

And as predicted, when the hordes outside began hammering loud enough that even the Inner Council could hear the rattling, his children swept aside their government and returned their founder, their master of all to his rightful place.

As It Should Be.

The Council Chambers were empty, save for the awaiting Castellan.

"What news of-"

"The siege has been broken."

Rassilon raised an eyebrow. "Unexpected good news requires an explanation."

"It's the Doctor. He showed up … broke the barrier. We're not quite sure how, but he did it. Lead the initial charge himself."

The Doctor.

He'd met this renegade a few times. One of those who refused – _defied_ the set order – and left, turning his back on paradise.

Despite his separation from civilisation, Rassilon knew of no other Time Lord, during his life, his slumber and rebirth, who'd possessed such a smattering of accomplishments.

"I thought he refused to fight."

"He's … joined the front lines. Not too long ago. In fact … the Doctor … he has renounced his name."

Rassilon leaned back, letting the surprise wash over him.

To choose a name was an old practice; old when he was a boy. Less a title, more a statement to the universe what you were, as opposed to this new practice which had cropped up in his absence of adopting a collection of consonants which labelled your house, your chapter and who knows what else.

Doctor. Monk. Master. War Chief. Rani, to name a few. Self-titled and self-aggrandising.

Yet had more fire and spirit in them then this lot who might know the proper respect, but damned little initiative apart from waking him from his rest.

And the most vocal opponent of the War had renounced his Title, a statement of pacifistic nonsense and joined the fight proper.

The Doctor, now he'd seen reason, would be a useful asset.

The one that the Daleks feared. All analysis proved this beyond doubt.

The one who recruited the other renegades into the war effort, despite his protests of not joining the fight. Even unwittingly bringing to the war the greatest covert warrior for the Time Lords.

The one who made several rescue attempts, successful to the point where significant amounts of the military and officials now owed him. In fact he was the only one who made the rescue attempt for Davros when his ship lost control; even though he failed, the gumption he demonstrated cemented his reputation.

The one, even when exiled and mentally hobbled, repelled Omega when he held the power of the Singularity. Really should have made sure that 'accident' did the job …

Rassilon's lip curled downwards.

The one who spirited former President Romana off world and into other dimensional realms, depriving his new regime of the suitably grand trial and execution that would place the blame firmly on her shoulders and elevate him in the eyes of the public as a glorious harbinger of victory and power.

The one who brokered the deal between the Guardians of Time, both Light and Dark, to seal in the Time War within the Lock, which may have protected the rest of the universe but gave the Daleks a reference point for their own temporal calculations.

The one who'd made a point of _refusing_ the Presidency, the ultimate aspiration for a Time Lord. _Twice_.

The one who everyone knew was the foremost expert on the Daleks, the one who had beaten them time and time again to a point where he was in their _mythology_, and would therefore be the one the soldiers and the officers would turn to first instead of their orders from on high, as it should-

Rassilon turned to the Castellan.

"… we will have to deal with Officer –"

"Call him Doctor."

"… Lord President …?"

"Doctor. No matter what."

Bowing and scraping, the Castellan backed out of the office, and would ensure that order was followed, no matter what.

As it should be.


End file.
